


In a Language that You Can't Read just yet

by f1rstperson



Series: Have You Accepted Carlos the Scientist as Your Personal Lord and Savior? [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil has existed for a long time maybe forever, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Non-Chronological, Other, awkward and out of it Cecil on Carlos action, creepy!Cecil, horror? maybe?, hot ashy-monster-god on Cecil action, overzealous!Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1rstperson/pseuds/f1rstperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil finds a new god, one who makes the world less vast and daunting. </p><p>Thousands of years later Cecil finds his god again, trapped in a perfect human vessel and unaware of his status as a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Language that You Can't Read just yet

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first god!Carlos fic to power through my writer's block, and I purposely avoided establishing story or details to make it into a less daunting exercise. Of course, I couldn't just leave that alone and let it be a simple porny success, I had to word-vomit a bunch of overly-complex expositions and ideas into this dumb thing. And thus this piece was born.
> 
> This was partially inspired just because I want to write creepy Cecil, and then partially because I want to write creepy Cecil having his brains fucked-out by a creepy ash-monster. Draws from eps 7 and 13. May or may not involve drunk writing/self-editing/posting. Also the title is based off a Death Cab for Cutie song because I am a knob.
> 
> I also plan on doing a Carlos POV piece, but I plan on doing a lot of things within a certain set time and I rarely actually do them so... We'll see.

_June 15, 2012 AD:_

Beads of sweat glistened on the scientist’s forehead as he spoke to Cecil, his strong, stubble-ridden jaw moved rapidly as he babbled about the various oddities of the town. Curled strands of perfect black hair clung to his equally perfect brown skin. From between the man’s chapped lips Cecil caught quick glimpses of his teeth amongst the fleshy-pink insides of his mouth, standing rigid like headstones from a military cemetery. The scientist, Carlos, was speaking almost too quickly to be understood, as if the words were coming to him faster than he could let them out. Every now and then he would stutter and gesture frantically with his hands. As Cecil stood and tuned out everything but the rushed oaky tones in the man’s voice he felt a strange tingling sensation on his arms. His tattoos, frayed bands that twisted from his wrist to his shoulders, were vibrating. They shivered until he felt the hairs on his arms prickle and a mass of goosebumps covered his skin. And in that moment he just knew.

Carlos didn’t seem to notice as Cecil shifted in place, trying to suppress his shivering. Cecil focused harder on Carlos’ voice, ignoring the words and ideas and meanings the man was currently trying to express. He listened for an undercurrent of the booming, resonant voice that had been haunting his dreams for as long as he could remember. He knew without a doubt that that voice lay somewhere within the perfect scientist in front of him, even if he couldn’t hear it in Carlos’ voice now. It had to be there somewhere.

_est. January 4,000 BC:_

Cecil awoke and saw only darkness. He felt the damp, chilled breath from the bowels of the cave float across his bare skin, and the air smelled of dust and that musky, bitter scent from sitting water. For a moment he was still, staring hard into the deafening void that surrounded him, trying to catch a sudden movement in the dark or the sound of bodies shifting, but there was nothing. He left the cave, stepping gingerly to avoid making any noise. Above him, the night sky spread wide, melting into the dark edges of the desert’s flat horizon. The moon was full, surrounded by stars, glittering like the bright edges on grains of sand in the sunlight. Tall cacti and sparse trees stood in the white light, soft shadows stretching below them.

Cecil spun around slowly to take in the entire view. The massiveness of it all, the openness, made his head feel light. His surroundings blurred and contorted at the edges as his vision narrowed. The sky shifted and warped like an optical illusion; one second it was a definitive structure, solid and opaque above him; a deep dark reflection of the sand and dirt below. It curled around the earth, cradling it softly, hiding it. And then the next second it became a forever extending lack of space, just infinite, inky nothingness. Cecil’s eyes began to hurt as the sky kept shifting between to the two.

He had the sudden urge to walk for miles, all the way to the edge of the horizon and even further from that. Nothing would stop him from wandering the earth indefinitely: not his mother who rarely did anything more than stare vacantly at the cave walls, not his fellows who would let the memory of him slip away like sand through their fingers only to wonder every now and then what happened to him, and not the sky that had existed and would exist long after he had and would never breath a word of him after he was gone. He could just wander forever, could walk along jagged mountainsides that would tear at the soles of his feet, rip him apart and press upwards until his joints popped and ached with every step, wear down his body until he fell down dead, and then finally the world would open it’s gaping maw and swallow him whole. He felt the same rush of energy he get whenever he tripped and fell, his brain trying to reconcile the reaction to what was with the expectation of what should have been, all within a split second. But here, in this moment, he was free from traction and expectations and should.

Cecil’s train of thought was interrupted by a sudden movement his peripheral: a dark, blurred creature in the distance. He snapped his head towards it, his heart pounding, afraid that it was a predator, or worse. But the creature didn’t appear to be either. It towered in the distance, two long arms that almost touched the ground. Even in the bright moonlight, the creature was a solid black mass. It shifted impatiently, watching him, and Cecil felt the same adrenaline pump through his veins. He imagined himself walking towards the creature, and nothing would stop him. No one would be there to stop him now or punish him after. He didn’t know what the creature would do, and it was dangerous and stupid to approach it, but there was no one here to stop him from being dangerous or stupid. He began walking towards towering black mass until he was no more than a foot away from it.

The creature loomed over him, more than ten feet tall, its face smooth and devoid of features. Cecil stood naked and trembled, not tall and not short, his mind numb and writhing like it was fever-ridden. The creature lifted one of its hands, stretching nine elongated fingers. Cecil felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the creature’s arm curve effortlessly to reach him. The tips of the creature’s fingers curved upwards; smoke-like in the way they flickered at the tips. It reached out and stroked Cecil’s face, heat radiating from its touch. The creature’s hand left a thick black smudge across Cecil’ face, speckled with tiny glowing cinders that singed Cecil’s cheek. He felt the dizziness and vastness ebbed away in an instance. The moonlight had cracked the desert open, made it boundless and impossibly large, but with a single stroke of its hand this creature had sealed up all the cracks and jagged edges that sat invisible on the horizon. Cecil looked into the creature’s smooth, ashen face and smiled. It was perfect… God-like. A gaping crevice broke the creature’s otherwise smooth face, smoke oozing out of the new hole, and his new god smiled back.

_August 1, 2012 AD:_

Cecil had his hand wrapped around the cool metal base of the microphone, grasping it so hard his muscles in his hand and arm shook. He spoke clearly and rhythmically, digging his nails into his leg and informing the entire town of the recent atrocity committed by Telly the barber. Just the thought of clunky metal scissors snipping through Carlos’ perfect curled locks made Cecil’s throat clench uncomfortably, a thick knot settling in, but he powered through it. That bastard had touched Carlos’ perfect locks, removed them. Desecrated them by letting them fall to the dirty tiled ground. And then, that bastard had the nerve to sweep away the evidence.

Cecil bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, metallic and salty on his tongue. He knew Carlos would be restored eventually, that he’d return to his natural state of perfection, but for the moment Carlos was a little less perfect and Cecil wasn’t going to be okay until Telly was flayed for it.

_est. February 4,000 BC:_

Cecil snuck out of the cave every night for the past month to visit his god, which always stood in the same place, towering in his peripheral.

Sometimes, he brought it food, salted meats and cactus fruit. The god would lean over and grab Cecil’s offerings, and the food would blister and blacken until the only thing that remained was a smoldering hunk of ashes.

Sometimes he would sit for hours and tell his god stories about his day-to-day life. He would talk about how how his mother begged him every day to stay away from ponds or sitting water. She’d had a vision long ago, a vision so horrifying it tore her out of her usual glazed-over expression, of Cecil’s hazy, shifting reflection breaking through the surface and dragging Cecil under, his body thrashing, trying to escape, until finally he fell still. As Cecil recounted how she would go silent after that part and return to staring blankly at the cave walls, he couldn’t help but giggle. His god’s face split open with a loud crack like a burning log collapsing on itself, and a few small puffs of smoke escaped from the slit, accompanied by a succession of low, gurgling noises.

Sometimes he’d bring his god other treasures: split geodes, small chunks of turquoise, glittering marbled sandstone, or milky bits of quartz that he had come across while wandering the desert, the hot sands burning through the calluses on his feet. His god would never touch these things, but he would gesture to Cecil to place them at the foot of a large mesquite tree. The next night they’d be gone, and that was okay. Sometimes things just disappeared. It was no longer Cecil’s place to think about such things.

After he had finished bestowing his gifts, his god would turn to him and stroke his hair, its many fingers ghosting through the long locks on Cecil’s head. Then, it would fill his head with that booming and unintelligible voice, the one that filled every bit of Cecil’s focus like the sound of his own skull crashing against hard rock, just to let Cecil know that it was especially pleased with him.

Cecil snuck out that night, when the moon was full again and bathed the desert in white light. His god stood where it always was, but Cecil couldn’t help feeling a spark of anticipation when he saw it looming in the distance. He felt safe as he came upon his god standing where it always stood, knowing it was always there to tie the world back together when it began to unravel, when Cecil began to know to much. That night was cold, cold enough to make the hairs on Cecil’s body stand rigid. He shivered and hugged himself. But as he approached his god the air grew warmer, and the air smelled like burning trees, the comforting smell of wood and the overpowering smell of burnt pine needles and leaves. He took another step forward, only centimeters away from his towering, smoking god. His god wrapped its arms around his body, long arms leaving heavy grey smudges against his naked skin as they brushed against his trembling, goose-pimpled skin.

He hadn’t brought anything with him this time, no food, no new stories, no trinkets. His god never asked for such things in the first place. Cecil intended to give his god something even better.

_February 2, 2013 AD:_

“This isn’t a date,” Carlos said as he sat down in the stiff little chair across from Cecil, “I wasn’t calling you for personal reasons.”

“Oh,” said Cecil, looking down into the bitter liquid and frowned. Heat radiated through his styrofoam cup and warmed his hands, making him feel a little bit stronger. He quickly shrugged off his disappointment. Of course it was a date, but if Carlos wasn’t ready to realize that, that was okay. He’d realize it eventually, and Cecil had no problem waiting for him to come around. He’d already waited this long, after all.

Cecil leaned back in his chair, suppressing a shudder as his tattoos shifted atop the skin concealed by the long sleeves of his shirt. He smiled at Carlos, who had fallen silent after his declaration and was now frantically inspecting every element of the coffee shop that wasn’t Cecil. Finally, his gaze returned to Cecil, a look of confusion passing over his face as the radio host kept smiling at him. Carlos blushed and ducked his face into his shoulder, but Cecil could see his lips pulled into a shy smile. The tattoos on Cecil’s arm burnt and dug into his skin at the sight of that smile.

_September 15, 2013 AD:_

That night Carlos’ breath was wet against his cheek, smelling like bitter coffee. He pressed a series of kisses to the crook where Cecil’s lips met as they laid naked on the bed. Cecil was struck with how lukewarm Carlos fingers were as they slid down his ribs and then splayed out against the soft lining of fat on his stomach. Carlos was whispering against Cecil’s neck, and his voice sounded so small, so soft to Cecil’s ears. He kept waiting for the booming voice in the undercurrent of Carlos’s words, that sound that would make his ear drums pulse and his heart shake, but no matter how hard he listened he couldn’t hear it, and Carlos was cupping his erection with his not-warm-enough hands and rubbing his own against Cecil’s thigh.

Everything felt farther away than it should be as Carlos entered him, his hard length not branding Cecil’s insides. The world was splayed open in front of him again, daring him to break all the feeble threads that sought to tie him to this place, to any place. Carlos trust into him and the pleasure was not white-hot like fires that melt metals. It was unobtrusive; not hot or cold. Carlos shoved his hips forward again and again, brushing against the swollen gland inside of Cecil, and in a haze Cecil let out a series of moans and grunts. Eventually he came, the mounting pleasure appearing to him almost like an afterthought, his muscles seizing in far-off remembrance of a heat sweltering around him so thoroughly he almost thought he was being immolated. Warm, salty liquid splattering against his and Carlos’ stomachs. Carlos turned on his side and laid his head against Cecil’s chest and Cecil stared at the off-white ceiling, wondering when his room had become so incredibly vast and empty.

_est. December 4,000 BC:_

His god’s fingers, thick like snakes, wrapped around Cecil’s arms as it bent its smooth, featureless face down towards Cecil’s, angling the gaping chasm of its mouth down towards Cecil’s lips. A few fleeting pockets of cold air hit Cecil’s skin. He took a breath, reveling in the thick taste of smoke that infused his gums and throat. A high-pitched groan escaped his lips at the thought that he was breathing in a part of his god, and Cecil shuddered. The skin on his lips blistered as his god pressed against them, its body hot like sandstone that had sat for hours in the sun. It was a low burn, one that grew with intensity as he tried to grip the elongated creature harder. Cecil squirmed and moaned, his body oversaturated with delicious sensations. He was so happy to give himself up to his god. What else was he living for, after all? His god had made the world bearable, if it left him as a pile of burnt remains like the food he offered it, well, he’d be happy with that.

Cecil spread his legs, wrapping them around his smoldering god as it laid its body into his own. There was a sudden wetness inside him, almost as hot as scalding water but not quite. He felt something long and hard press inside him, not hot enough to burn his skin. Little wisps of smoke leapt from every surface of his god, and glowing cinders jumped off its body, and burrowing their way into Cecil’s flesh.

The world was sucked into a few focal points; the pleasure building in Cecil’s abdomen, the incredible pressure inside him, and the incredible scorching air outside of him. The heat emanating from the heaving, gurgling creature began to move into its hands. The hair on Cecil’s arms singed and curled. All around them the air wobbled and shined, distorting the images surrounding it.

His god begin to draw in and out of him. The heat seemed inescapable, it filled Cecil’s lungs and his innards and the air gracing his skin. Cecil groaned, his voice torn from all the smoke. His god’s movements became more frantic, hot pressure shifting against his prostate and filling him more than he ever imagined was possible. Cecil screamed as his god’s fingers began to burn into his arms. Tears welled in his eyes and dripped down his cheeks, but he kept jutting his hips in time with the massive ashen creature on top of him. He was so close to coming. 

His body felt over-wrought, assaulted on all sides by too much heat and too much pain and too much pressure. His head swam, he let out a desperate moan. Suddenly, his god stilled, its face split almost completely in half, and it let out a howl that made Cecil’s ears ring and his teeth vibrate. Its curled fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of his arms. Cecil let out a voiceless scream, heat curling inside him, pleasure and pain crashing against each other in seemingly unending waves. He thought that he might burst into flames, or perhaps he was already in burning to death. Cecil came as the massive amount of sensations warred within his body, white liquid sizzling as it splurted onto his god. He felt raw all over; on the burned tracks that circled his arms, on his insides that still smoldered with heat. His body shook, but he was happy. Cecil smiled at his god again, tired and satisfyingly empty from his offering. His god opened the slit in its mouth, released a monstrous black cloud of smoke, before tracing one long finger down the newly formed blackening lines that curled across Cecil's arms. 

_est. 1745 AD:_

Cecil’s god no longer stood in the peripheral, it had begun to fade as settlers began building new towns. The world was once again frighteningly massive, and Cecil was untethered in it. But the deep, black marks where his god had gripped his arms in inhuman pleasure still remained, and every once and a while they would tremble with what felt like a sort of anticipation. So Cecil decided to drift through events until his god returned to him.

**Author's Note:**

> A certain percentage of you have already experienced the happiest moment that will ever occur in your life, and every occasion after that will amount to nothing more than a lesser shadow of that time that once was. 
> 
> So come to my blog! http://f1rstperson.tumblr.com


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